Worst Novel Ever Published (on Purpose)

PublishAmerica is a Maryland based book publisher known to screw over authors in a variety of ways. They claim to publish only select, high quality works. But most of their revenue actually comes from authors.

PublishAmerica doesn't provide any free copies of the published work to the author or to book reviewers, forcing the writer to buy hundreds or thousands of dollars worth of their own books (depending upon how stupid they are), which rarely see the shelves of any physical book store. And PublishAmerica doesn't spend any money to market what they publish. So their entire business model is built almost entirely upon devouring the hopes and dreams of unsuspecting writers. Delicious, tasty dreams.

Soul eating aside, a group of writers got together with the explicit purpose of creating an unpublishably bad piece of work and testing whether PublishAmerica would still accept it.

They succeeded:

Richard didn't have as sweet a personality as Andrew but then few men did but he was very well-built. He had the shoulders of a water buffalo and the waist of a ferret. He was reddened by his many sporting activities which he managed to keep up within addition to his busy job as a stock broker, and that reminded Irene of safari hunters and virile construction workers which contracted quite sexily to his suit-and-tie demeanor. Irene was considering coming onto him but he was older than Henry was when he died even though he hadn't died of natural causes but he was dead and Richard would die too someday. . . .

If reading this excerpt of Atlanta Nights didn't destroy your temporal lobe, you can visit its website, or read more about it here or here.

Hat tip to Slashdot.